


Small Favors

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are trapped in the closet while Sebastian and Jim go at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Favors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17487.html?thread=102222927#t102222927) at the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme.

Walking around the flat, John had to admit, he was a bit impressed. Nothing like he’d expected when Sherlock had showed up and announced that they would be breaking into the home of Jim Moriarty due to a bit of information Irene had been kind enough to give Sherlock before her death. Instead of cold cement walls and dart boards with Sherlock’s picture plastered to it, it was a flat not too different amy other normal person’s flat. Couch, kitchen, telly. Everything that one would not expect from the man it belonged to.

Well, aside from the Bee Gees cd.

Making his way out of the bedroom, John went over to where Sherlock sat trying to crack Jim’s password.

“He even has friends, you know that?” John said, looking at the picture frame in his hand. Jim had his ‘surprised’ face on as he casually leaned against the serious looking brunette in the photo.

Looking up from the photo, Sherlock took the photo and looked it over briefly before handing it out. “Interesting. Knew he was gay.”

“What is it with you and thinking he’s gay?” John asked as he looked over the photo a bit more.

Sighing, as though it was so hard to explain such things to someone who didn’t immediately understand, Sherlock shook his head and got up. Standing next to John, he pointed at the picture. “Look at the way they’re leaning into each other. Moriarty’s hand is casually resting against the man’s thigh and despite looking annoyed, it’s clear the man isn’t annoyed with Moriarty. That plus the way his left shoulder is slightly slack implies he wants Moriarty’s presence near him.”

John frowned as he looked over the photo, trying to see everything that Sherlock did. Certainly what he had said seemed reasonable enough, but he also made keeping various body parts in the fridge seem reasonable enough.

“You really got all that from a photo?”

“No. The Woman let me in on the small fact that Moriarty has an accomplice by the name of Sebastian Moran and that they were… close.”

“Of course,” John said, rolling his eyes. “Oh, Moriarty’s hide out is here if you ever want to break in. Oh, and by the way, he’s boffing his own former soldier, because it’s just not good enough to parody you in one area of his life he has to—“

Placing a hand over John’s mouth, Sherlock stilled as he asked, “Do you hear that?”

Listening closely, John picked up on all of the usual flat sounds. Floors creaking, people milling about outside. Everything seemed fine until he heard the scraping of keys against the doorknob. Staring at Sherlock in terror, he was caught off guard when the other pulled him off in another direction, barely allowing John the time to put down the picture.

Sherlock managed to find his way into the bedroom, pushing him into the closet before he could even think to complain and then joining him in the cramped space. Shifting to find a position that allowed him not to be so pressed against the other man, John silently cursed Jim Moriarty and his damn collection of suites.

“What are we going to do?” He questioned as quietly as he could, since there was no need for a louder tone with Sherlock pressed against his front.

The taller man shook his head and pointed to a crack in the closet doors he was staring out of. Turning his head to do the same, john found himself with his ear to Sherlock’s chest as he looked at Jim Moriarty undoing his tie.

Then before he could even put it down, Sebastian Moran was pressed against Moriarty’s back, kissing down his neck as Moriarty continued to undressed as though he didn’t noticed. Fighting the urge to clear his throat at the awkward situation playing out before him, John, turned to look up at Sherlock, eyes pointedly fixed on his jaw.

“Yes. There,” Jim moaned loudly.

Turning to look once again, John pressed closer to Sherlock, blushing furiously at what he saw.

There stood Moriarty, the very man that had tried to blow him up, shirtless and pressed back against the man behind him, head leaning to the side as Moran continued to work over his neck. His fingers were clenching at Moran’s trousers, as though it was the only thing keeping him upright, if the sounds coming out of his mouth was anything to go on.

Biting at the inside of his mouth, John tried to stifle his own noise of interest as he tried to press even closer to Sherlock strictly for the sake of getting a better look at the men before them. Shifting slightly when the two moved to the bed, John knew it was wrong to watch, but he couldn’t help it.

Not with the way that Moran shoved Moriarty to the bed before moving to kneel between his legs.

“Oh stop teasing and get on with it,” Jim complained.

Moran’s reaction was fairly hard to see given the small viewing space, but his reply was easily heard in the silence of the room.

“Come on now. You know what I want to hear, Jim.”

Frustrated, Jim ran his hand through his hair as he nodded along. Grabbing the front of Moran’s shirt, he tugged the man closer so that they were practically nose to nose and said, “Fuck me. Plow me into this bed so hard that I feel it for days. That I won’t even be able to walk tomorrow. Make me stop thinking of anything, everything. Make me stop thinking of Sherlock Holmes.”

Feeling a shudder as Moriarty said that, John was immediately reminded of the fact that he wasn’t alone in the closet. Sherlock was there, pressed against him, watching the same thing as him. He should’ve been embarrassed of himself, quite honestly, but as he tried to shift his position, there was really no denying the fact that Sherlock also seemed to be sharing in his predicament from watching the two attractive men go at it.

And God were they ever going at it. Moran on top of Moriarty, who was frantically trying to undo the man’s trousers. Mouths sliding cruelly against each other with a mix of teeth and tongues and Moriarty’s increasing moans. A display that should not have been attractive in the first place because John wasn’t really all that into blokes and definitely shouldn’t have been made better by the way that Sherlock kept shifting, thigh rubbing against John’s erection.

Swallowing, he turned away from the scene, staring instead at the sleeve of one of the suit jackets. And if he missed the way Moriarty’s hand finally slipped into Moran’s trousers, making the man shudder with a silent moan, it was all for the better.

“You do this on purpose. Always making me wait,” Jim said, voice rising at the end.

John could just envision Moran biting him a little less than gently as he talked. Moriarty’s chest rising and falling a bit faster than normal, hand still in the man’s trousers as he stroked the other just a bit too gently.

“You want it now? Want me to spread you open and bury myself in you?” Sebastian questioned, voice dark and rough.

“God yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t care how. Just do it,” Jim pleaded.

For a long moment there was just silence, followed by Moriarty’s high pitched whining. Gripping at one of the suits, John shook his head, swearing to himself that he wasn’t going to look. Even as Sherlock pressed flush against him, hips gently rocking his erection against John. Gripping Sherlock’s hips, he turned to find himself staring into the blue eyes, pupils blown wide, not from the darkness but from the show neither of them could ignore.

“I asked you a question. You better damn well answer it,” Sebastian said in a tone that reminded John of the fearful colonel he knew the other to be.

Seconds ticked by, Sherlock and John’s gaze never breaking, even when Moriarty’s need ridden voice spoke up, albeit it a bit shakily.

“Seb, just… God. Bite me. Down my sides, up my thighs, I want you to mark me. I want to feel you in me. That slick tongue moving inside of me, trying to go just as deep as your fingers do as you use both to stretch me. Petting at my insides like it’s some bloody pet while I try to work myself  on your fingers as they scissor inside me.”

John swallowed thickly as he tried to shift carefully, vaguely aware of his hand still on sherlock’s hip as they stood there.

“That it?” Sebastian asked casually as he did something that made Moriarty practically scream.

Sherlock’s breathing quickened, heart all but pounding in his chest, keeping a steady pace with John’s, because Sherlock had never really been alone in any of this.

“Yes! No! I… I want your prick so far in me I can taste it, Bastian. I just… I don’t care what you do. Just do it, please. Oh God just do it.”

“Well since you’re obviously so desperate for it.”

The next thing John heard was Moriarty’s drawn out cries as Moran set about doing everything the man asked for perhaps. He didn’t know. The moment he tried to turn and look, he found his chin caught between Sherlock’s fingers mere moments before the man’s mouth was against his, desperate as Moriarty sounded in the background.

And while John tried to remember that he didn’t like blokes and had no reason to be so aroused, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing back, eagerly pressing against Sherlock while trying to be mindful of the fact that they were meant to be hiding to prevent getting caught. They should’ve been figuring out a way to escape from the situation without getting killed by the psychopath rapidly losing the ability to talk as his pet soldier nipped at the sensitive skin of his ass.

No, the only thing that John could genuinely spare a thought for was the idea of getting Sherlock to do everything that Moriarty had said to him. God help him, but he wanted to be marked by the other, to have Sherlock put that obsessive need to figure out something toward leaving John a quivering wreck. Grabbing at Sherlock’s ass, he nearly stilled as a strangled noise escaped the other. Not that it was necessary with the way Moriarty was going about things.

“Seb, Sebastian fuck me. Please… Just, just fuck me already. I can’t – Yes. Yes. Jesus Christ, yes!”

John’s ears felt as though they were on fire as Sherlock sucked at his throat. The closet was too cramped and too warm and his body couldn’t seem to decide between gasping in breaths and giving up on breathing entirely every time Sherlock dragged their hips together, erections sliding against each other behind their trousers.

Panting in John’s ear, Sherlock whispered harshly, “Don’t make a sound. Whatever you do, don’t make a sound.”

Nodding obediently, John didn’t care what Sherlock had in mind at the moment, he trusted the man with every fiber of his being. So when Sherlock undid his trousers and slid his hand in to start stroking John, he could do nothing more but bury his face against Sherlock’s shoulder. The feeling wasn’t necessarily the most pleasant one considering the fact that the man’s hand was a little too dry, but John didn’t dare stop him.

Instead, he listened to the moans of Moriarty and a panting breath he couldn’t place as his own, Shrelock’s or Moran’s. All he knew was that when Moriarty let out that surprised noise that left nothing to the imagination as he came, he followed along, biting Sherlock’s shoulder to keep quiet as he shuddered and came into the other’s hand.

Resting against his friend, John did his best to catch his breath in the quiet room, nothing but Moriarty and Moran’s breaths cutting through the rather absolute silence. Slowly Sherlock removed his hand from John’s trousers and John quickly set about straightening himself up, painstakingly ignoring how Sherlock simply licked his hand clean. In the room, the other two men seemed to be overcoming their post coital bliss as well.

“Come on, Jim. Shower.”

“Mmm. I’ll meet you there.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Moran laughed.

Moriarty only made a noise that could best be described as a purr before saying, “Yes since I’m the one with spunk both on and in him. Now go.”

“Fine.”

With baited breath, John and Sherlock waited for the sounds of movement to pass by. It wasn’t until the sounds of the shower started did the bed creak again and the soft sounds of footsteps fill the room. Smiling at Sherlock, John felt a strange amount of pride when the man smiled back.

Opening the closet door, Jim Moriarty sighed as he stared them. “How fitting to find you two in the closet. You can come out now, though.”

Panicked, John looked to Sherlock, who seemed just as surprised. Although, that could’ve had something to do with Moriarty standing there in his shorts, hair a mess and obviously well fucked.

“Oh don’t worry. If I wanted you two dead, I would’ve had Sebastian shoot you.”

“How’d you know we were here?” Sherlock asked, never wasting a moment.

Nodding over at the nightstand, he said, “The photo you carelessly left near my laptop was out of place. And trust me, I don’t need picture of Sebastian when I work. You’ll have him thinking I care about him.”

Sherlock gave looked at him with a glare that John didn’t even bother to match, because sod it all if the man really expected him to be all that functional after getting off. Instead, he just focused his attention on Moriarty, trying not to imagine the man spread out on the bed, begging for it.

“We’ll just be leaving.”

Jim looked him over before doing the same to Sherlock. Shoving past them to inspect his clothes, he nodded. “Alright. Consider the favor returned.”

“Favor? What? Letting us watch you get laid? Yeah, great favor,” John grumbled. 

Moriarty merely smiled as he stared at Sherlock. “So far from boring,” he muttered before heading toward the bathroom. “Til we meet again, gentlemen. 

Watching him leave, John frowned. “What’s he mean? What favor?”

“Come on. I’ve a bed that demands my attention.”

“Course, get a bloke off and then go to bed,” John said sarcastically as he followed his friend.

Opening the front door, Sherlock looked at him and said, “I was hoping that, perhaps I’d be going to bed with you.”

Shocked, John blushed as he nodded in agreement. “That… That could be arranged.”

“Good.”

Because even if John wasn’t actually into blokes and definitely didn’t really have a thing for Sherlock, who was married to his work either way, it did seem a bit wrong to let the guy get him off and not return the favor.


End file.
